


The Grind

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [100]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Twinky?”“Fair, you’re the twink,” Jared says.Bryce sputters. “I’m older than you.”“And way prettier,” Jared says.“I am not,” Bryce argues.“Way prettier,” Jared says firmly.“You’reprettier,” Bryce says.“This is the dumbest conversation we’ve had all year,” Jared says. “And I’m including the cake argument.”





	The Grind

The thing is, despite the whole being a professional hockey player, flying all over North America, practices and games and training and all that, Jared has a ton of free time. A lot of what feels sort of like purgatory time too, thanks to the travel, empty hours to fill. The Oilers go on a long-ish road trip in the middle of February, and Jared would probably be bored out of his skull — though at least warm, thanks to Texas, Tennessee, California — except that suddenly he’s attached to his phone, which has become the best blackmail material ever if it fell into the wrong hands. 

And honestly, anyone halfway intelligent could figure out who Jared was engaged to if they read their texts, Bryce still being BJ in his phone or not, but Jared’s not actually talking about the Bryce thing. There is an absolutely ridiculous amount of wedding planning going on in their text chain. And in his history. And saved to his bookmarks. And he bought the e-book version of the book Elaine got them for Christmas because fuck knows even his oblivious ass teammates would notice if he pulled out a wedding planning book on the plane.

It’s stupid, because Jared doesn’t even like party planning or anything — well, who knows, the closest thing he’s ever come to party planning was telling his parents what theme he wanted for his birthday parties as a kid, and they quit asking the billionth time he said hockey — but for some reason he is stupidly invested in how their wedding will go. He tells himself it’s because if he lets Bryce do what he wants, who knows what ridiculously lavish shit would be involved, but the first time they have an actual fight about the cake, he should probably admit he’s just lost his mind.

“Like, I don’t see what the big deal is,” Jared vents. “It’s a fucking cake, it doesn’t need to be ‘traditional’. And who decided vanilla was the only thing you could do? Plus like, you know what isn’t traditional about our wedding? The fact I’m _marrying a dude_. If I can marry a fucking guy, I can have a chocolate cake.”

“Mhm,” Julius says, flipping a page of his magazine with far too much sarcasm. He’s pretending to read it cover to cover, but Jared’s pretty sure he’s just skimming the fuck out of everything until he reaches the article about himself on page 40. Jared already read it, and it’s fawning as hell about Julius’ rookie season, so like: pretty accurate.

“Chocolate’s classic too, you know?” Jared says. “It’s not like I’m talking, I dunno, ginger lemon or something.”

“Ginger lemon sounds good,” Julius says.

“It does not, what the fuck,” Jared says. “God, what kind of person would have a ginger lemon cake for their wedding?”

Julius looks up at him.

“I know how ridiculous I’m being,” Jared says.

“Good,” Julius says, and goes back to his magazine.

“Quit pretending to be interested in the upcoming crop of RFAs or whatever and read the damn article about yourself already,” Jared says. “God.”

“I am interested,” Julius says, but he starts flipping through pages a little faster. “You could have chocolate and vanilla if they were cupcakes.”

“I’m not talking to you anymore,” Jared says, turning his back to Julius’ bed, and texts Bryce with, _Julius says we should do cupcakes_.

_thats stupid_, Bryce texts back, and with that, they have a truce.

*

There is so much shit that goes into weddings. Like, obviously the cake — Jared’s still lobbying for chocolate, but there is no more yelling — and location, and invitations, and all that stuff, but also, well — when it comes down to it, Jared’s way more stressed about what they’ve dubbed the tell list than the guest list. Like, their guest list already knows they’re together, with a couple exceptions. They’re waiting until Jared’s back in Calgary before they tell his grandparents, and Bryce told his grandma when he was in Vancouver for a game, which apparently was kind of weird but mostly fine. It’s not that long a guest list anyway. Immediate family plus grandparents, a few friends. 

Jared told Raf and Chaz they should invite Grace and Ashley — and maybe like, mention that Bryce and Jared were a couple first — and they both told Jared after they didn’t actually need to be told about him and Bryce being a thing. Jared’s not really surprised. He kind of figured they picked up on it last summer and were just too polite to ask him or Bryce to their faces, and apparently he was right. No extended Mathesons and Murrays, because they’re keeping it small, and no extended Marcuses because, well, Elaine’s an only child, and so was Bryce’s dad. Easy. Done.

The tell list is, well, a list of people they have to tell about their relationship before the wedding, and it kind of varies in stress level. They have to go to register for a marriage licence, but that’ll have to wait until Jared’s home. In the meantime, while Jared’s on his roadie Bryce is on a long homestand, and he meets with a lawyer — his stubborn ass still refuses to even consider a pre-nup — and lets his accountant know about the upcoming change to his marital status. He’s anxious and snappish before each meeting, almost Jared level rude, but he sounds visibly relieved after, and apparently they both go fine. 

What’s not fine is the fact they’re going to have to tell Flames and Oilers management. Jared knows it isn’t optional. Greg told him it isn’t optional. Summers told Bryce it isn’t optional. Partly because shit like next-of-kin or spouse and stuff are legally going to have to be updated, same as if Bryce and Jared were marrying anyone, but, you know, the whole ‘yeah hey I’m marrying the star player of our biggest rival’ adds some spice to it. And by spice Jared means he’s going to be sick when that conversation has to happen. 

And it does have to happen. It could technically happen after the wedding, but Greg’s straight up told him he could destroy his relationship with management that way, and Jared knows he’s right. They could bury him in Bakersfield next season, trade him across the country over the summer. They could do that anyway, they might do that anyway. It’s still something he has to do at the end of the season.

And the end of the season is suddenly coming up fast. Faster for Jared than Bryce — Flames aren’t a lock, but they’re in contention, and unless they fuck it up, Jared’s going to be heading back to Calgary just in time to watch Bryce in the playoffs. Oilers are, well. If they win every single game there’s a statistical chance they could make the playoffs? It’s in the low single digits, though. 

It’s disappointing, but in a way it’s almost almost a relief, because Jared has never been more tired in his entire fucking life. He hurts everywhere too, and it’s not just bruises he’s picked up, or sore muscles. His _hair_ hurts. He thinks the air _around_ him hurts. And he was warned about this by Bryce and Raf and Chaz and Greg and a ton of the Oilers. By pretty much everyone. NHL hockey is fucking hard, and the rookie year is going to take a lot out of you because you have to find a whole new gear to play at. And that gear _hurts_.

Insult to injury — not an actual injury, thank fuck, knock on wood — he’s lost practically all the hard earned muscle from summer training, and no matter how much he eats, he can’t keep from shedding weight like crazy. Hockey’s fucking exhausting.

Plus he cried a little on the massage table yesterday, so that was great. Doug said it happens all the time, and Jared wouldn’t believe him, but like — Doug deals with rookies every year, so maybe. Either way: completely mortifying. Jared has dealt with sprains and strains without crying, and one man’s hands get him weeping.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Bryce asks, but like, amused, not jealous at all. You can’t be jealous of the massage therapist. The massage therapist is the devil. Well, right until he’s your hero. Jared had conflicted feelings about Doug even before he cried in front of him. He possesses simultaneously cruel and magical hands.

“Yeah that sounds like Steve,” Bryce says. Steve’s presumably Bryce’s own devil and hero. “Feeling better, at least?”

“I don’t even know anymore,” Jared admits. “You said something about like, the wedding?”

He was maybe drifting a little when Bryce was talking, so he’s not entirely sure, but he thinks he was, and even if he didn’t, that’s a pretty safe bet. All of their conversations at least touch on the wedding right now.

“Yeah, I was asking if you wanted to do like, tuxes, or like, suits, or what,” Bryce says.

Jared blinks slowly. “Um. Suits?”

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” Bryce says. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“Eh, I’ll probably be like this tomorrow too,” Jared says. “I look like a dork in a tux, though, so suits, probably.”

Sadly that’s something he knows firsthand, thanks to it being the dress code for an Oilers charity event. The only consolation is that Julius looked even more ridiculous.

“You looked nice,” Bryce says.

“You always say I look nice,” Jared says. “Your opinion can’t be trusted. Plus like, I’m too skinny for half my suits right now, I’d look like a twinky hipster if I wore anything with a bowtie.”

“You’ll put the weight back on by summer,” Bryce says, and then, a little incredulous, “Twinky?”

“Fair, you’re the twink,” Jared says.

Bryce sputters. “I’m older than you.”

“And way prettier,” Jared says.

“I am not,” Bryce argues.

“Way prettier,” Jared says firmly. 

“_You’re_ prettier,” Bryce says.

“This is the dumbest conversation we’ve had all year,” Jared says. “And I’m including the cake argument.”

They’re going with alternating chocolate and vanilla tiers. It’s a good compromise. Way better than stupid cupcakes, though Julius keeps demanding a cupcake tree now, fixated on it. Says if he’s coming back to Canada in the middle of summer just to watch Jared get married, he wants a cupcake. Jared fully intends to grind one in his face as a welcome to Calgary if he keeps nagging Jared about it.

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “Go take a nap, babe, you’re cranky.”

“_You’re_ cranky,” Jared says. “Babe.”

“Jared,” Bryce says.

“Okay, I’m taking a nap,” Jared says. Not because Bryce told him to, and not because he’s cranky, just because he needs one. Or like, to sleep for a week straight. That’s not exactly feasible, though, so nap it is.

He wakes up late afternoon to a text from Bryce, _sleep tight grumpy_ and a kissy face, one from Julius, asking if he can come over. Jared shuffles to the door and unlocks it, tells him to come by whenever, and Julius is there so fast Jared is suspicious that he was like, waiting by his door for permission. 

He doesn’t even say hello, just kicks off his shoes and lies down on Jared’s couch. Jared feels that. Also resents it, because now _he_ can’t lie down. “Food?” Julius asks hopefully.

“I’m not cooking,” Jared says. “Not a chance. I’m fucking wiped.”

Julius sighs. “Skip the Dishes?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Pasta?”

“Pasta,” Julius agrees, and they sit up long enough to eat their weight in carbs before Julius goes home and Jared goes to bed pitifully early, feeling like he hadn’t had a nap at all.

*

The Oilers get mathematically eliminated two weeks before Jared turns twenty. Obviously he knew it was going to happen — before their loss to the Wild, they had less than a one percent chance to make the playoffs even if they won literally every game. Like, in order to do it, the teams in front of them would all have to _lose_ every game, and that sure as shit wasn’t happening. So he obviously knew it was coming.

He feels like shit. They’re in the middle of a road trip so he can’t even go home and crawl under the covers and sulk until his next obligation. Well. He can do the crawling under the covers and sulking thing. Julius is doing it.

Jared pokes his blanketed shoulder tentatively, and Julius makes a very angry noise. 

“Want to talk about it?” Jared asks. For some reason Julius taking it hard is making it easier for him to like, be the bigger person. The grown up. Whatever. They can’t _both_ sulk under the covers.

Julius doesn’t say anything.

Jared pokes his shoulder one more time, and then not again, because the angry noises are freaking him out. He thinks if he did it again he’d get bitten or something.

Bryce calls right around when he must have finished up his game in LA, and Jared answers it from his bed — not under the covers, he is too strong for the covers — but after Julius pokes his head out just enough to give him an absolutely murderous look for daring to speak, Jared retreats to the bathroom.

“Sorry,” he says. “Julius apparently needs utter silence to sulk.”

“How about you?” Bryce asks.

“I can sulk in all conditions,” Jared says, and Bryce huffs out a laugh. “I mean, it’s not like it was a surprise.”

“Still fucking sucks,” Bryce says.

“Still fucking sucks,” Jared agrees. “Think the playoffs might have literally killed me, though, so. Silver linings?”

“J,” Bryce says. “You know you can like, talk about it with me, right? You don’t have to shrug it off.”

“I know,” Jared says. “I just. I’m so fucking tired, you know? I’ll probably keep sulking about it for awhile, like, obviously I didn’t come in not wanting to make the playoffs, I’m just — I’m fucking tired, you know?”

He’s repeating himself. Fucking exhaustion.

“I know,” Bryce says, graciously not calling him on it. “Couple more weeks.”

“Yeah,” Jared says. 

Julius raps sharply on the door. “You’re loud,” he snaps.

“I gotta go, apparently I’m breaking the silent sulk rules,” Jared says. “Plus I’m completely bagged.”

Bryce hangs up after the obligatory love you’s. Jared doesn’t mean they’re like, anything less than meaningful — doesn’t matter how many times he hears it, it still means something — just that he thinks Bryce is incapable of ending any call with Jared or Elaine without saying it. Like a few weeks ago literally called Jared back ten seconds after they hung up to say ‘sorry, I was distracted; forgot to say I love you!’ level incapable. It was as ridiculous as it was cute.

“Your majesty,” Jared greets Julius’ grumpy face.

“Thank you,” Julius says, clipped like ‘fuck you’.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Jared asks.

Julius crawls back into bed, skinny back firmly to Jared for a split second — Jared can probably count the knobs of his spine through his shirt, so never mind Jared dying if they made the playoffs, Julius would probably vanish, he’s got so little weight left to lose — before the covers are right back over his head.

“Well, fine,” Jared says, and goes to pull his own covers over his head. Not for sulking, though. Well. A couple minutes of sulking. After that it’s just desperately needed sleep.


End file.
